My son, Beau, lives in Denver and wouldn't be home for Thanksgiving but was able to get the weekend off before Thanksgiving, to go to a friend's wedding in KC.  He and his girlfriend decided  to drive through the night so they'd have as much time as possible with family. (Who needs sleep when you are 24 years old?)  During  Joy's turn to drive she ran the car out of gas at 3 AM, trying to make it to the next town, 17 miles short of Salina.  She woke Bo.  After some discussion, flashers on, cars passing, temps in the 20°s and car cooling fast, they decided to walk to the next mile marker to find out where they were exactly before trying to call for help.  Cars passed.  They were worried, scared and COLD.  Just as they got back to their car a man going the opposite direction pulled off the highway and ran across to them. 

He had been driving to Salina and had seen their stopped car and when he looked back in his mirror he saw the flashers on and them standing outside of their car.  He was too far past them to help by then so he drove on to Salina, then turned around and came back to help them!  Then he drove them on to the next town to get gas and brought them back to their car before continuing on his way.

I just can't get over how this guy went SO far out of his way for strangers that he wasn't even sure needed help, really.  There are so many ways this story could have ended with a far less happy ending.  I wanted to share what a difference a random act can have.   There is so much bad news in the world today.  We need to hear and share these stories when we know them.  Just sharing them is kind of an RAK in itself because it spreads hope.  

If I had been traveling on I-35 that night, I'd have been like that guy, looking up in my mirror, wondering if those folks need help, weighing the possibilities.  Realizing I was too far past them anyway, I'd have gone on.  I'd have sent up a prayer, and maybe others in those passing cars did that, too.  I'd probably have regretted I hadn't stopped but I wouldn't have gone back to check on them.  So, praise to God, that there are those willing to take a risk, to go out of their way, to give help and hope.  Let them be a shining  example to the rest of us. ♥

Sometimes I think God gave us husbands so we will keep perspective in our lives.

This morning I read Swampwitch's post about being the mother of the bride and some of her personal horrors as she prepares for the wedding. This excerpt made me laugh out loud. This is she talking to her really empathetic husband:

"Can you see my zit?"
"Not if you put your hand over your nose or if I shut my eyes."

I love it.

Her drama with getting sick before the wedding and everything else that was not going right brought back my son's wedding to me. It was three yeats ago.

I needed a just-right dress. I thought it would be easy but I was oh-so-wrong! It was about a week before the wedding and I still didn't have it. Everything I could find was either spaghetti-strap prom, matronly or beaded/glittery. I am none of the above. Oh, yeah, and it had to be a color that at least didn't clash with the bridesmaids and the mother of the bride. AND it had to fit my weird skinny-limbs-broad-shoulders-big-butt figure. Where were other women finding those gorgeous dresses? I hate shopping for clothes anyway and I found myself shopping for hours on end.

That's bad... because when I shop and don't find what I want, well, I settle. I start seeing possibilities in things. I found a dress that I thought would do. It was a blue similar to the mother of the bride's dress, which she was making herself, by the way. It was big but it wasn't shiny or fancy, which neither am I. ...it had possibilities.

It was way too big, even for my backside, although fit pretty well at the shoulders. It just hung on me. Guess what? I bought it anyway. I decided my mom could alter it for me and she agreed to do it.

Kevin's girlfriend convinced me to go to her salon for my hair cut. She was also a "Colorist". I should have run. I have never colored my hair before other than highlights which I do myself. She said we needed to get rid of the gray (hey, it's in the back, I can't see it!) and "even it out a bit." (she didn't like my highlights!) She gave me a nice "caramel" color, a lighter shade than my natural color and add some lighter streaks. "Okay, you're the expert." ...famous last words. It came out blah, blah, blah, plain.

After a couple of hours of that, and it all cost more than my dress, I just wanted to get out of there! Shoe shopping time. I found a nice pair of pointy sling-backs and bought them. In the process I lost my credit card (or was it stolen?) which, being that I use it so seldom, I didn't notice 'til I got ready to pay for the kids' honeymoon suite several days later and it was gone. But someone had "found" it and had been on a little buying spree. The guy at the credit card company was gentle when he told me this but I just burst into tears anyway. He must be accustomed to this response because he comforted me and told me to take some deep breaths and that it would all be okay. (It was)

Two days before the wedding I woke up feeling kinda nauseous... the day my mom was going to take in and hem up my dress. When I got out of bed I literally could not walk, the room was spinning. I was sure I had some disease and was going to miss my firstborn's wedding. If I lay perfectly still I was fine but any movement left me nauseated and dizzy. The doctor squeezed me in and decided I had some kind of virus that messed with my inner ear. He got me some medicine and life was good again. But the day was wasted and my dress did not get altered.

Anyway, I had to keep it all in perspective, after all the wedding wasn't all about me. Angus said I looked "fine" which is guy-speak for "get over yourself". I doubted anyone would even notice me and I was so flippin' busy I didn't really give it much thought. Until the photos came back.

Here is a snapshot of boring me taken an hour before the wedding with the mother of the bride. Still in my flip-flops and see how my lipstick makes my lips disappear? I am a hopeless cause, I think.

The good news is - the bride was beautiful. My son was wonderful. The wedding was spiritual. The reception was fun and I fell in love with my husband all over again. Who cares that I was wearing a blue potato sack?

+++++

Phillipians 4:11 ~ Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.

This morning I got up and headed down to do a load of laundry before work. I grabbed a fresh bottle of bleach and there was one of those safety tabs on it. I couldn’t get a good grip to pull it off. I was frustrated and needing my morning coffee. I finally gave it a big yank and off it came splashing bleach all over me.

I felt it on my face. My right eye was burning but it was just fumes from th bleach on my face. My glasses had saved my eye. I reached down to the piles of laundry on the floor and grabbed something to wipe my face and chest, dropped the robe and ran to the bathroom to rinse it off of me. I wondered if my eyebrows were bleached.

When all was said and done, my robe was totally ruined. The bleach that splattered to the floor mostly splashed the whites. It left a white trail on my garden pants and Kev’s paint pants… missed Angus’ work uniform by a quarter inch. I smelled bleach all day… I’m smelling it now as a matter of fact.

Okay, I’d been wallowing in a pity pool the night before, feeling under appreciated and taken for granted. I wanted to be over it but I wasn’t. Did God give me a bit of a wake up call this morning?

“HELLO! Don’t you know how good you have it!? Great family and friends and, look, I’m watching out for you! Nothing of value ruined... you weren’t in your work clothes. The bleach didn’t get in your eye... you aren’t blinded. Your hair didn’t turn bleach blonde either... just a few highlights. All is well. I was right there with you. Wake up! You think you are taken for granted… underappreciated... what about ME? I give and give and give and love and love and love and people, like you, don‘t even notice! But I just keep giving and loving anyway, hoping that someday you‘ll notice and give me the praise and gratitude I require of you. I still have hope for you.”

So, Father God, please forgive me for my self-pity and my selfishness and my self-righteouness. Guide me closer to you and reveal yourself to me. Thank you so much for all you have given because I know that it all comes from you. Thanks for sending beautiful reminders of your grace and your glory. But mostly thanks for never giving up on me. Show me how to follow your example when I am dealing with people that disappoint me. Help me to remember that you love them, too.
Amen

Today I saw the faces of the 8 students (A.J. Jackson, Michael Tompkins, Ryan Mohler, Michael Bowen, Katie Strunk, Michelle Wilson, Jamie Ann Vidensek and Peter Dunn) who lost their lives in the tornado that hit the high school in Enterprise, Alabama. I read the stories of the heroic acts of the teacher who threw herself over one of her students. I read about the students who had just survived the tornado themselves running to the collapsed hallway to get the injured out long before any authorities arrived with rescue units. I read about the finger pointing and second guessing regarding the administration’s decisions. As I read all of this the tears were streaming down my face.

I prayed for all those children and teachers, administrators and families, neighbors and communities that are all suffering from the aftermath. Lives forever changed. They are going to need a lot of prayers and assistance and support… and love.

I have a deep fear of tornados that goes back to my childhood. I have lived on the edge of Tornado Alley most of my life but have never seen one. You’d think having lived for half a century in a high tornado region and not ever having seen one I’d be pretty skeptical, but here’s the thing. We have all either seen one from a distance or seen the aftermath and destruction. We’ve all been through “close calls”, tornados that came down for a few minutes and then lifted back into the sky… tornados that run wild through a nearby trailer park or through a farm. They are real and they tease and threaten and veer off from where they are headed… they jump over a house and flatten the one next door… they will snatch up a man covering his nephew in a ditch and leave the boy there (true story)... They can drop out of the sky with no warning no matter how much the weather man thinks he knows. You don’t have to experience it to recognize the power. And, of course, there are always the annual tornado warnings.

There were no big sirens that blared out to the whole community. No, it was every police car in town driving up and down the streets screaming their sirens through the black streets of the night. You’d wake in the night and hear the siren… a fire? A crash? But then you’d hear another siren a bit farther away, then another and another from all different directions and you knew…TORNADO! TAKE COVER!

Here is the one memory that I can’t escape. I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood. I am not sure how old I was…maybe 8 or 10 years old. I was awakened by my obviously frightened mother who grabbed my little sister and me out of deep slumber and told us to “Run to the Fulks’ basement. Don’t stop. There was a tornado sighted on North Oak.”

The Fulks were the only people in the neighborhood who had a basement. Everyone gathered there during take-cover warnings.

We ran! I was old enough to know that North Oak Street was not far from our house (about 8 blocks). We ran through the rain in our nightgowns in the dark all alone down the street. We ran for our lives. We ran while our parents gathered up our young twin brothers.

We were welcomed into the basement where others had already congregated and were huddled about. I don’t think I have ever been so physically frightened. Other neighbors arrived and soon my parents joined us safely, too.

The tornado did not come. We went home. But the fear remained.

My mowing days pretty much ended when CJ became old enough to take over that job. By then he had 3 younger brothers and I had no time for that chore. Now the big ol' zero turning radius riding mower (man toy) we have is so complicated I don't even have a clue how to run it. It doesn't even have a steering wheel!

Most of our property is wooded or the field but just about every bit of the grassed area is shaded by the many trees we have. I have told Angus that I hope by the time we are elderly we will have so many trees that it appears we live in the middle of a forest. He usually replies with a grumbly "humph" because he and the boys are the ones that have to mow around all those scores of trees. They've killed plenty of them by stripping a circle of bark from the base of the tree as they mow around it but eventually I just plant another one in its place.

So...one day we will be living in the woods and no one will have to mow but for now we rake wherever the leaves lay thick, just to keep them from killing the grass beneath. Yesterday I sent the boys out to do that chore. I had raked a few days earlier so there were a dozen big piles already that needed to be moved to the compost pile.

They grumbled a bit and stalled some ("where are the rakes") but went on out to finish the work. Twenty minutes later I looked out the window to check their progress... just in time to see my 23 year old son flip himself into a pile of leaves. I watched as he and my 17 year old son took a few more jumps before they went back to raking the rest of the yard.

They worked together wonderfully and had obviously worked out a routine. They had found a tarp and drug it around to the many piles of leaves that by now were dotted all over the yard. They raked a pile onto the tarp then drug it to the next one until it was heaped high with the leaves. They dragged the heavy load to my big compost pile and then flipped it all into the pile. Making sure to jump on it a few times "to pack it down" they later told me. ...Right.

It was such a beautiful sight for a mother to see her nearly-grown sons working together, playing together and making the best of life. When they were younger I sometimes wondered if they will ever get along, if they will ever be responsible, if they will ever "act their age". They have always gotten along pretty well but they didn't always enjoy each other's company. Now they do.

So, young parents, Take Heart! All the hard work involved in making the kids do chores when it is easier to do it yourself will eventually pay off. Some day the kids will like each other. They will eventually become the fine young adults that you prayed they would... well, maybe not that perfect but they will come into their own. Have hope... and keep praying.

PS~ I also got to witness a rake handle sword fight and a cell phone thrown into a pile of leaves as a find-the-needle-in-the-haystack and a little brother chase a big brother around a tree. I am still waiting for the "act your age" thing to kick in. ☻

Minnesota Vacation Pix

I stuck birthday candles in a watermelon and brought it out at midnight. Zeke's friends had been coming and going all evening and these that were left were staying up all night. They were leaving at 4:30 in the morning for the Sonshine Festival in Minnesota... so why sleep? Sleep on the bus! This is the thinking of a just-turned-20 young man who would spend his birthday traveling on a church bus with 20 other kids for 9 hours.

They'd been shooting the leftover fireworks and were in the process of building the "sparkler bomb" and the sparkler "flame thrower". These homemade incindiary devices are common among the youth of our community and not without their danger. Last week a hometown boy, a teammate of Zeke's on the soccer team, tried to put a can over the top of his sparker bomb and it blew up with his face above it. It looks as if he will not lose his eye afterall... and with still have some sight in one of his eyes. This after plastic surgery, of course.

What is it about boys? The powers that be outlawed the M-80s and Cherry Bombs of our youth but the ingenuity of kids will prevail. They must have their big bangs! When I use the boy above as an example of why not to build a sparkler bomb I am met with a look of disgust. "Mom, he was stupid." Everyone knows when the bomb is lighted you run like crazy! It's a bomb for heaven's sake!

Just blowing up a sparkler bomb is not enough though. They've all done that. They need to blow up stuff. Beau dug around and found some stuffed animals that they had won in one of those machines where you drop in a quarter and try to grab a toy with a crane. Off they went 2 miles down to the end of this secluded road. The nearest house was a half mile from their destination. They left with instructions for me to listen and see if I could hear it. I told them I'd better not have the sheriff at my door... or an ambulance racing down the road.

You might be wondering how could I let them go off and do that? If you are, then you probably have not raised four sons. There is alot of praying involved. Among these highschool and college boys were 2 valedictorians, 7 honor roll students, 4 members of the National Honor Society. They are smart kids, not out drinking or carousing or vandalizing. Sometimes one just has to trust them and trust God. (Besides, I had seen their bomb and knew they had used less than half the sparklers my oldest son and friend used while experimenting with their bombs 8 years ago when Sparkler bombs were the new thing.)

I sat in my rocking chair on the deck, said a little prayer for their safety and for them to use those good brains and awaited their return. Yes, I heard the blast. It was not loud but one of those barely perceptible booms that sound far off but you know something big just happened somewhere. I waited...and waited...

They tumbled out of the cars, laughing with delight as they all spoke at once and could hardly wait to show me the video. They brought back the bunny...or what was left of him.

I made them show me that they all still had all 10 digits on their hands and then we watched the video. At some point I realized someone (okay, it was Beau) had brought a little bottle of gasoline to douse the dolly with. I watched in horror. Zeke was cautioning but it was still frightening to watch. The group went way down the road to watch. I heard one boy tell Zeke to get closer with the video and he infromed him that he could see it just fine. The torch lighters ran toward the others like their pants were on fire.

There is no doubt, the Lord was with them on Zeke's 20th birthday.

PS~ Yes, I made them listen to me lecture them on the danger of lighting gasoline and the fumes.

I heard the water spraying as I began my descent into the basement. That is not a sound I was expecting as I went down to get a bag of tortellini from the pantry. I quickened my steps and called frantically to Zeke. He must have heard the panic in my voice and was right behind me.

The Hot water heater was gushing water out of some valve on the front of it. The concrete floor in the laundry area was covered with water but the floor drain was doing a pretty good job of letting it escape. The boundaries of the pool had not risen above the edge of the metal strip that separates the concrete floor from the carpeted area of the rest of the basement but looked as if it might at any moment...or had the water been spraying for hours and this was just the level at which the drain could carry it away?

I grabbed a broom and swished the water toward the drain while Zeke waded to the tank to figure out how to squelch the waterfall. He tried turning a handle at the top that appeared to be how water enteres the tank but there was a pipe an inch away from it that was very hot. He got a pair of pliers and tried to turn it that way and broke a piece off of the handle instead. We looked for instructions on the label of the tank but tat was for relighting the pilot light. I'd forgotten about the pilot light.

I tried to think who to call that would help out or that would know something. Angus was upstairs asleep after having worked all night and waking him wouold be a last resort. His brother, TJ, is a real handy man, he'd know but he'd be at work still. Everybody would be.

The water rushing out was ice cold. That told me that the tank had drained long ago and was refilling with the cold water which was spraying out and going down the drain (thank the Lord for that!). The pipe was hot so the tank was still reying to heat. I remembered 20 years ago when a neighbor's hot water tank had drained and went dry with the pilot light still on and their home has burned. I didn't have any details of that but that memory popped into my head. We needed to get everything turned off.

I'd already sent Zeke out to see if he could turn the water off, at least temporarily, at the road, where it comes into the house. Then I did what any red-blooded American girl would do in such a situation. I called my daddy.

I calmly explained what had happened and what we'd tried. Zeke was back from his jaunt unable to get the knob turned. After 20 years of never being used it had corroded. He squatted to see if he could read the words on the red knobs at the base of the tank. Dad told me to turn off the pilot light and you'd hear it go off. Zeke had found the words "vacation" (hey, we should have been using that all these years!) and "OFF" he turned it and we heard the puff as the pilot light went out.

The water was still spraying out but he found a pair of leather gloves and was able to turn the knob without being burned. The water instantly stopped spraying out but now I was worried that with the water empty from the tank and the pilot light off would the gas just be leaking out into our home? Zeke and I discussed whether you could smell propane gas and whether they add that smelling agent like they do with natural gas. I called my dad back and he said that when the pilot light is turned off the gas is shut off. Oh, yeah, ...duh.

I swished the water into the drain. Zeke told me that there was water in the garage too. Just puddles. The water had gone under the drywall.

So. We have no hot water. The tank kept draining for hours. When had it begun? Bo went through the basement on his way to school and it was wooshing then. I heard the water around 3:30 pm. I havent gone out to read the water meter...not sure I really want to know right now.

It has been the most beautiful Spring in memory. It came late, no false Spring this year to fool the daffodils, red buds and fruit trees into being nipped in the bud by frost. It went straight from winter to warm weather without those March and April cold and rain. Because Spring came late many flowers bloomed simultaneously. Everything came to full bloom starting witht the crocuses and daffodils followed by grape hyacinth, tulips, violets, peach, cherry and pear and Redbuds. The woods were full of Dutchman's Breeches, Jacob's Ladder and May Apples. Now it is the dogwoods, Sweet Williams which both make a beautiful contrast to the bright green seen everywhere right now. The Lily of the Valley are blooming, too, and they are so fragrant!

Even Beau came in one afternoon and mentioned how beautiful the flowers werer. Hey, when a 16 year old boy driving down the driveway notices the flowers it must be obvious. Even better he likes that we have been harvesting asparagus for a few weeks now...a favorite of all the boys, roasted in olive oil and sprinkled with parmesan cheese.

Thank you, Dearest Lord, for the beauty of the flowers and the colors of Spring. Thank you for the sounds of the Spring Peepers in the evening, the Whip Poor Wills in the dark, and the turkeys at dawn. And, Oh Lord, how beautiful it all smells as we wander through Spring. Thank you for making the beauty so wonderful that we just can't miss it! Now, dear Father, a little rain please....

From a friend:

Part I~

We've had a fire at our house tonight...while we were at a soccer game. A 250 watt heat lamp fell into one of the cages with the baby chicks in it and caught the newspaper and pine shavings on fire. We've had one casualty...so far. The rest were traumatized and singed. The house was completely filled with smoke when we got home, but the fire had burned itself out, thankfully. Other than smelling like we had a bonfire in the living room, there was no damage to the house. I feel awful about the little Buff Orpington, though. There was a plastic container of gasoline just 3 feet from the fire. We were very, very lucky.

Part II~

All but 3 of the chicks are just fine and don't seem to have any ill effects from their ordeal. I don't know why the lamp fell in...it was (I thought) securely clamped to the top of the kennel, and I had another clamp holding it to make it even more secure.

If you know any way to get the campfire smell out of the house, let me know. It's not the acrid smell you think of with most housefires...it was, after all, pine...mixed with a little chicken, if you'll pardon the sick joke. I think the smell is getting better, or maybe I'm just getting used to it.

It was a miracle nothing else happened. I can't imagine why ALL the newspapers and shavings didn't burn. The fire just stopped short of where the little chicks were huddled, terrified. Angels' wings must have fanned it out.

The most badly burned chick is in isolation in my bathroom. She is eating and chirping, but not very mobile. The bottoms of her feet were burned, so it is probably painful to move around much. I put some antibiotic ointment on the wound on her head, but it looks worse today...oozing. If I thought she was suffering, I should ...kill her, but I don't know that she is in pain and don't think I could kill her anyway. I'll wait a day or two and see how she does.

Part III~

I was doing laundry today, and walked in my bedroom, looked out the window and almost had a heart attack. Our bedroom is directly over the basement garage where the chicks were housed, and where the fire had occurred, and what appeared to be smoke was pouring up past the window. I quickly realized that it was the dryer exhaust hitting the cold morning air, and not smoke I was seeing. After what we experienced, you get a little jumpy...

Part IV~

I want to try to save and keep Sparky. She's kept me company while I do all the things I do in the bathroom...she's seen me naked and didn't laugh. I really, really like her. I don't know if she will ever be normal or if she'll even survive, but she's a fighter, and very possibly, a heroine.

Latest news is that Sparky has healed and is now a sweet little pet. We'll see how that goes!

I stepped off the chair right into the paint pan that my son Zeke had just set on the floor. My bare foot slid down the paint slippery incline of it right down into the pond of paint causing me to lose my balance. My other foot landed on the open paint can. I fell backward against the wall I had just painted 5 minutes earlier. I had paint from shoulder to rump and it was oozing between my toes. The good news is that I was totally unhurt and no paint had spilled! A small miracle!

We laughed about it as I had hopped to the bathtub to wash my foot... and discussed the appropriate place to set down one's paint pan. Zeke and I painted the living room this week and we were weary of it by the time of this mishap. What we thought would be a simple one day chore hauled out into 3 days of drudgery. It took 3 coats of paint (at $25 a gallon). I had only purchased enough for 2 coats so when we discovered that the new lighter color was not going to completely cover the old darker one I sent my son, Kevin, back for more. Unfortunately, they had not put my order into the computer as they were supposed to and the paint chip I sent with Kevin didn't come in "eggshell", only in Flat or Semi-gloss. Big news to me since teh original sales person had offered it and sold it to me as such. So new salesperson just mixed up what she thought was right and sent it home with Kev.

Of course, we painters knew nothing of all this since Kev just brought the paint back set it down and left again without giving the details of the purchase. I had been painting all the corners and edges while Zeke was rolling out the middle. He started with the new paint. It looked as if it didn't match but he was laying wet paint on dry so it never does look like it will match. It wasn't until we thought we were finished and the paint was dry that we discovered that none of the edges matched the middle.

We had to repaint all of the edges with the new paint. Edging is the worst part of apinting and we were both so sick of painting by then. My shoulder ached from raising my arm above my head painting next to the ceiling. Now my house is painted...but not in the color that I had originally chosen but by the time we finished I was so sick of painting that it could have been barf green and I would not have cared.

Lesson learned:
1. Make sure you have enough paint to begin with and that your order was exactly entered into the computer.

2. Pay attention to where you set your paint pan, can, brush, etc.

3. Watch where you put your feet!

4. Throw your paint roller out and buy a new one when you need it. It takes forever to wash out all of the paint...no exaggeration. Paint rollers are cheap.

5. Watch for drips that don't show up until you have moved on. They are hard to fix once the paint is dry.

6. Make sure you really like your paint partner.

7. A puddle of paint spilled while holding your paint pan and not paying attention will come out of your carpet if the color is similar enough, you have a big spoon to scoop up as much as you can, you have several wet towels you don't care if get ruined, and you have a good shop vac to suck up the water you ahve poured on several times to dilute the paint after each toweling.

The doorbell rang and I opened the door to an old man I'd never seen before. He reported to me that "Looks like someone's driven through your fence and your cows are out in the road." I hurried to wake my son, Zeke, who was sleeping in. I grabbed a couple of buckets of corn had ran out to the pasture. Sure enough, the fence was down, completely flat for 20 feet or so. The tire treads showed that someone had missed the turn and gone right through clear into the field taking out fence posts, fence and barbed wire with it.

I cajoled our 2 steers back inside with the help of the corn and checked out the fence while I waited for Zeke. He came out with acouple of pairs of fence pliers and a roll of wire. Three posts were completely broken off at the ground and 2 more were bent. The barbed wire was still there. The fence was crumpled and there was a piece missing. Must be on the grill of the vehicle still. I went and got a fence post out of my garden and found a roll of old fence behind the old playhouse. I couldn't lift it into the Jeep so I had to kind of flip one end in and then lift the other end in.

For three long hours we worked on trying to repair the fence well enough to prevent another escape. It was just a patch job and we didn't have the right equipment but we were able to get it done well enough. We were sweaty and tired by the time we finished but I felt good...a sense of accomplishment. It's a feeling that I think is rare in society today.

We were running late for my neice's birthday party. Zeke had borrowed my car earlier and informed me as we hurried to the vehicle that the gas light had come on earlier and he had put $5 worth of gas in it....not much gas at $2.39 a gallon. Sure enough, on the way into the city, the light came on again. I'd get more on the way home.

They were resurfacing the highway of the Northbound lanes and traffic was backed up for miles. It was nearly 6 p.m. so I supposed that some of it was left over rush hour traffice. I was grateful that we were headed South and was just wondering if I should phone my husband, Angus, and advise him to take another route home when Zeke pointed over to the Northbound lanes and said, "Hey, there's Dad." Too late. He'd be suffering too since it was still 90° out and his old pickup doesn't have airconditioning. Zeke called himto let him know what he was in for and Angus said he had just come up on it and was already at a stand still. Of course, there had been no signs warning of the construction.

We arrived at the party and there were still a few hotdogs left and the cake had not yet been cut. Lexi was shy at first with all eyes upon her but at 2 she soon forgot the audience and was happily ripping into her gifts. Zeke's present of a small drum set was a hit with her but much less so with her parents. My sister (Lexi's mom) looked over at me and said, "ah, payback time." We smiled.

When we headed home it was after 9 p.m. and I decide that we had enough gas to get back to town and I could get it where I knew they'd take my check. I hate to put it on the credit card. I had completely forgotten about the road repairs as we chatted about the party. The road crew must've been working throught the night because we hit the long line of slow moving cars. The traffic was mo better than it had been earlier in the evening. I eyed the gas guage and thought we'd be okay. There was not choice now anyway. We were in it, no more exits. We waited; stop, crawl, stop again. Zeke pointed to tracks in the grass where somebody had decide to make his own short cut over to the gravel road that ran along side the highway. On we went as I watched the little red arm on the gas guage sink lower. We passed a car in the median with the hood up. I watched the arrow touch the big E and realized we were still several miles from the next gas station and wondered if we would be in that situation soon. Zeke again pointed to the gravel road and suggested that we make a getaway. It was completely dark by now and I worried that there might be something lurking in the grass that was hidden...like a huge ditch or something. We crawled forward and the guage dipped lower. Zeke finally said, "Mom, this is our last chance. That road turns up here." Sure enough, we were coming to a little overpass over the little Fishing River. The gravel road was still running parallel to the highway but it was way up a hill now. Okay, now I was worried. Which would be riskier? My option was fading fast. At the last possible moment I made my escape! Up the steep hill I went gunning it for momentum. There were no ditches or even bumps but it was very steep and the car stpped about 5 feet from the top. I eased my Jeep Cherokee back down the hill and put it into 4 wheel drive and tried again. The time it was easy. He cimbed right up and ove. As soon as I crested the hill I hit the brakes. There in front of the car was guard rail! I couldn't get onto the road here. I couldn't back up or I'd be going back down that hill but there was just enough room to turn and pull forward along the rail. The I started backing up along the ridge of the hill for about 20 feet to the end of the guardrail and tehn I was able to pull onto the road. Woohoo! My son reached over and honked a "we're free!" signal to those down below who were surely entertained by our dilemma.

We had no idea where this road would take up but knew that it had to eventually hit one of the roads that run through town. It wound around a lot but finally did hit a paved road. Where were we? Zeke recognized it and turned me right onto the road though a new housing development. We were on the same road that the gas station is. We filled it up and I had had a gallon left? Plenty to get to town under normal conditions...but with all the idling and stop and go? I don't know. I know it wouldn't have been as much fun as our little off-road adventure!

My thornless black raspberries are ripe! None of us are great fans of blackberries so they often go to waste. This year I decided to make jam with them. I found a recipe for Bumbleberry Jam in Guidepost Mag in which you use mixed berries and rhubarb to make an easy, yummy jam with whatever berries are available. Sounded good to me. If it turns out well I can use the same recipe for all jams I want to make as the berry season changes.

I went to the Farmer's market to buy the rhubarb and also bought some good looking blueberries. Blueberries are also not a favorite in our family but they are supposed to be very good for you so I thought I'd throw in a pint when making my Bumbleberry Jam.

I bought a couple dozen jelly jars at the grocery store and some pectin. I thawed a bag of strawberries I had frozen in June and went online to check out the University of Georgia's Extension advice on processing jam. I found my huge canning pot in the basement but could not find my canning tongs or jar funnel. My husband had made Salsa several years ago when we had a big tomato glut. He did a great job but who knows where he decided the equipment should belong after he was finished. He is family-famous for not liking where something is kept, or deciding it is not used often enough to keep handy or even to keep at all so I did not spend a lot of time searching for these items. I'd just make do.

Now I was ready! I'd been preparing for a couple of days and was now worried that my berries would be going bad and I must get on with it! I gathered all the items I'd need and set to it! It was all pretty uneventful except the horrible mess made because I did not have the canning funnel. While I was stirring the berries and waiting for them to come to a rolling boil I thought of my first time canning. In my mind it has become the "Adventure in Canning".

I was young at the time. Having been raised a pure suburbonite, I didn't know much about canning or gardening or even cooking for that matter. My new husband, Angus, was city-born and raised and yet we both were country kids at heart and had decided that was the life we wanted to live. So we had settled on 10 acres outside of a rural community that was outside of a town that was outside of the city. In other words, we live in the country but the city is within an hour's drive. It seemed perfect and we were determined to learn the ways of the country life we had dreamed of. Oh, there are so many good stories of the many terrible/funny mistakes we made and the people who took us under their wing and bailed us out!

But I am telling about my first time canning. I had bought an ancient pressure canner at a Garage Sale but, of course, there was no longer the instruction manual that goes with it. I went to the library and found a book that would help and researched my wedding-gift cook books. All of them gave instructions but also gave the advice to refer to the directions with the canner. Hmmm.

My three year old son had helped snap the beans. They were cleaned and ready and so was I. It was nearly midnight by the time I was actually putting the jars into the pressure canner for the last part of the process. I hadn't gotten started until the kids were snugly and soundly asleep. Angus had also gone to bed since he had to arise early to get to his job in the city. I was on my own.

The jars were in but I was having a lot of trouble with the sealing gasket on the canner and the huge, heavy lid that was supposed to be screwed on. I had practiced doing it before there was boiling hot water in it and didn't have too much trouble but now I was having a lot of difficulty. I remembered when I was a child my mom cooking something in her pressure cooker and I also remember the stain on the ceiling of our kitchen that we had forever-after when something tomatoey exploded out. So I knew the danger that could be involved in this kind of liquid-under-pressure experiment.

I finally got the lid screwed on satisfactorily and now I just needed to watch the guage and time it and finish up. I was hot and weary by then but once started you can't just say "Oh, I think I'll finish in the morning." I was wearing a hugh loose sundress (without a bra) which was the most comfortable, cool thing I could find for the long, hot duty... but I was still sweaty.

I was standing close the the stove, watching the guage slowly, much too slowly, move its little red arm higher and higher. The pot was jiggling and hissing which I took to mean we were almost finished and my aching body, and especially my tired, thong-wearing feet, would soon rest.

Suddenly, and without warning, boiling, bubbling hot water spewed out of the pot from under the lid! It shot out 2 feet in every direction like the rays of the sun shooting steaming lava. There was no time to think but my body reacted. My aching feet shot backward, my middle pulling away from the spurting water. It subsided as quickly as it had come once the pressure was released. It took me a minute to realized what had just happened. I was still standing, in the middle of the kitchen now, leaning over at the waist with the front of my dress, totally saturated with hot water, dripping onto the flooded floor.

When I had jerked my body away from the water my loose cotton dress had stayed where it was, hanging like a curtain in front of me. It had stopped the hot water, absorbed some and sent the rest downward to the floor where my feet had already long gotten out of the way. I was stunned for a moment. I was completely unharmed, unburned! It did not seem possible! There had been a few hot splatters on me but nothing else at all. The entire kitchen - stove, counters, floor- was drenched...yet I was not. I sent up a "Thank you, God" and this was the first time I ever thought of the possibility that maybe there was such a thing as a Guardian Angel and maybe I have one.